The scenes of the dead and - in a few joyful cases - unexpected survivors being pulled grey with dust from the ruins of their homes are all too familiar from earthquakes in poor countries across the world.
One man was pulled from a hole dug by rescuers through the collapsed floor of his house. His friend had been lying dead beside him for 24 hours.
An old woman, miraculously unhurt, is helped from the broken remnants of her material existence. A father kisses his baby daughter in joy that she is alive; mothers in desperation hold the hands of dead husbands and parents that stretch out from the shrouds that cover their bodies.
As always, the fear of what is still to come mixes with shock at what has happened. Torn between their homes and the possibility of aftershocks bringing down whatever remains of the masonry above their heads, residents flocked to public spaces.
Everywhere, people embraced each other, and wept.
In Kathmandu, many ended up in the great Maidan of Tundikhel, the vast parade ground in the centre of the city that has served as a focal point for much of Nepal's idiosyncratic history.
Religious festivals, horse races and military tattoos are all held here; in World Wars, Gurkhas assembled here before heading to serve in the British Army - though Nepal was never, as visitors are reminded, a colony.
In a different kind of monument to history, Sir Edmund Hillary was paraded here in 2003 to mark the 50th anniversary of his ascent of Everest with the world's most famous Sherpa, Tenzing Norgay - the event which did so much to put Nepal on the traveller's map.
Yesterday, survivors gathered here and built a tent city, one of many across the country, unthreatened by stone and cement. At the centre was a stage that had been set up for a yoga camp to be presided over by the popular Indian TV guru Ram Dev. Then the hunt for food and water began.
The conditions of uncertainty, the aftershocks and the failure of infrastructure and especially communications that come with major quakes are a breeding ground for rumour. Yesterday, stories repeatedly circulated that an even bigger quake, registering nine or 10 on the Richter scale, was due.
Even in five-star hotels, guests took their sleeping bags and duvets to the lawns to bed down there.
The aftershock that did strike, at 6.7, compared with the 7.8 earthquake of Saturday, was bad enough, but the intensity of further attacks from under the earth is likely now to die down.
That leaves the disposal of bodies, and the rebuilding of lives.
There were some signs that Kathmandu's modern infrastructure had escaped with less damage than feared by pessimists, who knew an earthquake was likely and worried about the quality of construction.
Kathmandu's Tribhuvan International Airport, named after the grandfather of Nepal's last king deposed by referendum in 2008, reopened for commercial traffic yesterday afternoon, its runway secure.
Alarmingly, a Royal Thai Airlines flight from Bangkok landed at the same time as one of the major aftershocks. The air traffic control tower was evacuated, leaving no one to direct it to the gate. Subsequent flights were diverted until some sort of service resumed.
In contrast to the modern city, the majesty of parts of historic Kathmandu lay in piles of rubble.
One survivor was the Pashupatinath Temple on Kathmandu's eastern outskirts. Named after Nepal's national deity, this huge complex bestrides the Bagmati River. It is said to be largely undamaged but it cannot be said to be a happy survivor. As dusk fell, every available space along the river's banks and sandbank islands had been taken for the pyres, for 100m downstream of the usual cremation spot.
Around these funerals, the families, hastily assembling their piles of wood, gathered. The smoke rose over the city, drifting over the new lives of those who had survived but who, under their plastic and canvas roofs, face uncertain futures.
